


The First Thanks Giving in the New World

by indiefic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All in all, she thinks it’s a relief that he won’t remember it.  The day their world died.  The day they lost, so completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Thanks Giving in the New World

All in all, she thinks it’s a relief that he won’t remember it.  The day their world died.  The day they lost, so completely.  Though, for her, the magnitude of that loss is overshadowed by the day’s other, more personal, horrors.  Finding him, broken and twisted, among the myriad other bodies.  Thank god for the uniform.  If the charred and tattered pieces hadn’t still been clinging to him, she’s not sure they would have realized in time.

 

It was bloody awful as it was.  His healing abilities were such a mixed blessing that day.  He was so grievously wounded, but his body sought to stitch itself back together, even shattered as it was.  They evaced him as quickly as possible, rushed him into surgery.  But with his constitution, it was impossible to keep him under for long.  The surgeons were quick as they could be, but it was delicate work as they were forced to re-break injuries, reshape the back of his skull and spine which had started to knit together into a mass of misshapen bone.  Peggy knew his agonized screams would haunt her for the rest of her life.  She stayed there the whole time, all fifteen hours, assisting where she could, but mostly keeping vigil.  They tried every kind of anesthesia they had, but it never lasted for long and he would bellow in pain, like a wounded animal.  

 

When it was finally over, she saw him to the recovery room.  She stood there, at the foot of his bed, for a full minute, before she collapsed into darkness.  She woke with a gash over her right eye and one hell of a shiner.

 

The surgeons had done what they could.  They put the pieces in place and waited.  No other human could have survived that level of trauma.  And it wasn’t just the internal injuries.  He’d been badly burned over most of his upper body.  The recovery should have been slow.  It should have taken months, years.  But they didn’t have months.  They didn’t even have days.

 

Schmidt’s horrible plans were realized.  The eastern seaboard of the United States was decimated and Hydra’s sights were set on European targets.  Howard got them out.  As many as he could.  Most of the Howlies and a handful of the SSR brass.  A random assortment of other survivors, military and civilian.  All loaded onto one of Stark’s enormous cargo planes with as many supplies as they could carry, bound for safer locales.  A full on retreat.

 

Peggy commandeered sedatives, that they couldn’t afford to expend, and used them to keep Steve as quiet and still as possible for the torturous flight.  He may have been the most severely injured of the wounded survivors, but his prognosis was ultimately better than most everyone else’s.  But that truth didn’t make it any easier to watch him suffer, any easier to listen to his guttural moans of pain.

 

Peggy had never seen the Pacific Northwest before.  She thought, under different circumstances, she probably would have been quite fond of the vibrant greens and towering trees.  As it was, it was so twisted in her mind with the other horrors of their circumstances that she could never quite bring herself to like it.  Howard took them to what had obviously been a summer resort, a sprawling complex of cabins and buildings, tucked into the dense forest.  It was isolated and quiet - at least until they arrived.  The plane had carried nearly a hundred souls.  More arrived every day - by truck, by plane, more and more frequently, on foot - as Schmidt’s rampage continued across the globe.  There were other outposts cropping up across the world as survivors banded together.

 

It was quickly apparent that their brave new world had a new set of rules, most of which were being written on the fly.  First and foremost, was to survive.  By any means necessary.  Peggy lost the skirts, the heels and the red lipstick.  They were replaced with fatigue pants, boots and blood stained aprons.  Phillips still wanted her counsel, but her skills as a trained nurse were far more valuable at first.  There were so many wounded, all housed in a lodge building that had been repurposed as an infirmary.  And, of course, there was Steve, who was given the dubious honor of having a private room.  Peggy was certain it had been an office.  They crammed in a bed and chair.  Not that Steve cared.  He flitted in and out of consciousness.  In addition to the blunt trauma and burns, his eyesight was badly damaged.  When he did wake, he would flail and fight, unable to get his bearings.  

 

After Peggy had to be fetched away from a patient for the third time, the ranking nurse frankly ordered her to keep him quiet.  So she did.  Her presence seemed to calm him as nothing else could, though he often wasn’t lucid.  She talked and read to him.  She would sometimes sit in silence and hold his left hand, which had been mercifully spared damage.  She wasn’t sure if her presence was actually a comfort, of it he was embarrassed to seem weak in front of her.  She prayed it was the former and feared the latter.

 

Most of his upper body was swathed in dressings.  His head had been shaved for the surgery.  What little she could see of him looked deceptively fragile, though she knew he wasn’t.  She never dared to venture far from his side.  She’d taken to sleeping propped up in the chair next to his bed.  On the third night, she fell asleep in her chair, her head leaning against his bed.  She woke stretched out next to him and she knew he had to have moved her while she slept.  There was nothing untoward about it.  He was only touching her where his feet pressed against hers.  He slept more soundly than he had the entire time she had been watching him.  So did she, though that didn’t necessarily meant she slept well.

 

The following morning, he was much more responsive.  He spoke with her and was coherent, if frustrated beyond measure.  His healing seemed to have a definite prioritization.  Brain, spine, skull first.  Other internal injuries.  His external injuries would be the last to heal and Peggy couldn’t even guess at how long that would take.  With a heavy heart, she gave him a very abbreviated version of everything that had happened while he was incoherent.  The news left him quiet for hours.  

 

Finally able to leave him for periods of time, Peggy assisted with other patients whose prognoses were far more grim - or at the very least, slower - than Steve’s.  The ranking nurse’s glower was truly impressive when she found Peggy around mid-morning to tell her Steve had been discovered standing next to his bed.  Peggy forced herself to bite back a smile, for fear of seeming disrespectful.  As politely as she could, Peggy informed the woman that she should feel free to try and force Captain Rogers to do as he was told.  Peggy wished her the best of luck and went about her duties.

 

In early afternoon, Peggy finally saw Howard for the first time since they arrived.  He caught her as she was heading to her cabin to change clothes.  He looked as bad as everyone else, sleep deprived and heartbroken.  But there was a grim determination that gave her hope in spite of everything.  

 

“How is he?” Howard asked tightly.

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Peggy looked at him.  “You could go see for yourself.”

 

He looked away and she knew he wouldn’t go see Steve.  She shook her head.  “He’s improving,” she said.  “Quicky.  It’s shocking, even for those of us familiar with his abilities.  He’s coherent.  Gross motor function has pretty much returned.”

 

“He can walk?” Howard said, surprised.  

 

Peggy understood.  Steve shouldn’t have lived through those horrors.  The idea that he could walk again was nothing short of a miracle.  Hell, the fact that he wasn’t a vegetable, that he was breathing at all, was a miracle.  She nodded.  “He’s been ordered not to move.  So, of course, everyone knows he can walk.  He’s coherent.  Talking.”  She sighed.  “I told him, this morning, everything I knew about what happened in the attack on Schmidt’s compound.  What happened in the days following.”  She took a deep breath and released it slowly.  “He’s been quiet.”

 

Howard dragged a hand through his hair, his relief as palpable as his grief.  “His vision?” he pressed, unwilling to dwell on the past.  “The burns?”

 

“In time,” she said, nodding.  “Given how much he’s recovered already, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”

 

Howard sighed audibly, seeming to collapse a little on himself.  A small smile curved his lips.  But as he looked at Peggy, his expression sobered again.  “And you?” he asked.  “How are you?”

 

She frowned at him, bristling.  “I’m fine,” she said.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  I wasn’t wounded.”

 

He frowned, shaking his head.  “Hang in there, Carter,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder.  “Tell Rogers to come see me as soon as he’s up to it.”  With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the command building.

 

Peggy shook her head, stalking toward her cabin.  At the end of the day, as usual, she returned to Steve.  She crawled into bed next to him, telling herself it was easier than being woken in the night if there was a problem.  That night, he was still quiet.  Without a word, he wrapped himself around her and she did not protest.  Nor did she protest any of the following nights.

 

His recovery continued on its extraordinary trajectory, far outpacing anything any of the medical staff dared to hope for.  Within five days of arriving at the new base of operations, his eyesight had somewhat returned.  Peggy grimaced as they peeled back the bandages, which had been soaked to loosen them.  His irises were clouded, the whites shot through with red.  The skin of his face was still red and shiny, cracked and weeping in places.  

 

He told the doctor that he could see light and dark, but not much else.  Even that was encouraging.  They covered his eyes again, hoping to give them the best chance of fully healing.  Even without sight, he continued to keep his own counsel as to what his level of activity should be.  He pushed farther than he should have, more quickly than he should have, despite the obvious pain it caused him.  In typical fashion, he always took the consequences without complaint.

 

With most of his internal injuries healed, or well on their way, his body seemed to finally focus on his burns.  They were, by far, the worst part of his recovery.  His body sought to repair the damage so quickly that Peggy had to be absolutely vigilant with debridement.  Steve’s modesty took some nearly lethal hits in those first few days and she was glad he couldn’t see.  But embarrassment was preferable to the alternative - his skin healing in puckers and folds, infected wounds sealing over, festering and having to be reopened.  

 

Peggy and Steve forged a routine, uncomfortable as it was.  He would sit on the little bench in one of the shower stalls, his modesty covered by a hand towel while the rest of him was bare and she would work ever so diligently to remove necrotic flesh.  It was painstaking work, and not standard wound care, but then again, little in regards to his physiology was standard.  Methods that would have put a normal person at risk were absolutely necessary when dealing with his particular gifts.  

 

At the end of their first session, she took a deep breath and in her best nurse’s voice informed him, “Captain, I need to check _everywhere_.”

 

He went very still and quiet.  She knelt next to him, gently touching the hand that was fisted in the towel, holding it against him.  “I’m fine,” he said tightly.  “I can do it.”

 

“You can’t see,” she said reasonably.  

 

Lips pursed together tightly, he allowed her to pull the towel away.  It was clinical as she could make it and she was awash with relief to discover he’d been spared injury there.  She suspected he would have expired from mortification if she had to administer wound care in that particular region.  She covered him again and his relief was palpable.

 

* * *

 

Only a fortnight since arriving at the new compound, and Steve was still making incredible strides.  The doctors, three of them unnecessarily crowded around so that Peggy was forced into a corner, watching, carefully removed the bandages from his eyes.  Removing the bandages was less of an ordeal this time, thanks to the nightly shower stall routine.  But even knowing what to expect, Peggy was shocked to see the near perfect skin of his face.  Even his eyelids looked unblemished.  His eyebrows and lashes had grown back, as thick as before.  

 

Peggy held her breath for what felt like minutes.  Slowly, Steve blinked and opened his eyes.  He scanned the room, looking for her, smiling when he saw her by the window.  He told the doctors that his vision was still a little fuzzy.  No worse than it had been before the serum.  The doctors were clearly amazed and pleased.  They told him what everyone already knew, that his vision would probably continue to approve in the coming days.  

 

After the doctors left, congratulating themselves on the success that had been entirely Steve’s own doing, Peggy moved from her spot.  She approached Steve slowly.  They’d spent days on end touching, nearly always in constant physical contact.  But now that he could see, it was different.  There was an awkwardness that hadn’t been there previously.  Carefully, she took his chin gently in her hand, her fingertips light against his jaw.  She tilted his head toward the window where a dim gray light was filtering in.  His irises were the same clear blue that they’d been before the accident.  Peggy nodded in approval and quickly excused herself, swallowing thickly against the painful lump in her throat.

 

That evening, their routine was irrevocably changed by the fact that his eyes were no longer bandaged.  Thankfully, his flesh was healing as fast as his eyes, if not faster.  There wasn’t much for her to do.  She cleaned and bandaged a small patch on the back of his right shoulder, which had been burned down the bone.  It would probably be fully healed by morning.  

 

She stood there, behind him, looking at the expanse of his back.  The incisions from his surgery were healed and visible only as thin pinky lines that would quickly fade.  The rest of him looked ... perfect.  Unblemished skin as far as the eye could see, leaving no indication of just how close she had come to losing him.

 

* * *

 

There really wasn’t any point in Steve taking up a bed in the infirmary any longer.  He stood there, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair, which was growing back at a leisurely pace compared to his lashes and eyebrows, looking at the hospital bed.  “I guess I should - “

 

Shaking her head, Peggy motioned for him to follow.  They walked outside, across the darkened grounds to a little enclave of cabins situated several hundred yards from the infirmary, in a dense cluster of trees.  Peggy pushed open the door to the cabin she’d been assigned.   It wasn’t home.  She hadn’t been here to do anything more than change clothes and wash up since they arrived.  She lit a handful of candles that provided enough light to see.

 

The cabin wasn’t large.  There was a small central room with a little couch and an end table with a lamp she never used.  The resort had power, but they rationed it carefully and strategically.  The kitchenette had a sink and a stove with two gas burners.  There was a little round table with two chairs.  The single door led to the lone bedroom and attached powder room.  The shower house was shared by all the cabins and was located a short walk down the trail.  

 

Bags were scattered around the front room.  A random assortment of supplies and clothes.  Steve’s footlocker and shield were propped by the door and he seemed relieved to see them.  It hadn’t even occurred to Peggy to tell him that she had them, and that they hadn’t been abandoned in the retreat.  Her clothes were scattered across the small table and Peggy hastily tucked the undergarments beneath the dresses.  Steve pretended not to notice, quickly looking away, though a blush stained the tops of his cheeks.

 

She looked at him, again feeling awkward.  “Space is at a premium with more survivors arriving daily.  Though I’m sure if you’d prefer your own cabin, it can be arranged.”

 

“I, uh, “ he started, then stopped and shook his head.  “I don’t want to intrude.”

 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if you were intruding, Steve,” she said flatly.

 

He crossed the few short steps to her.  Slowly, he reached out, his fingertips gently searching for her hands.  She let him take them, holding them loosely.  This contact which had seemed so natural, so essential, only a day ago now felt strained.  She looked up at him and he frowned.  “You took care of me,” he said quietly.  “I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to keep taking care of me.”

 

She laughed mirthlessly and rolled her eyes, hoping she wasn’t going to start crying.  “They say that in a crisis, you discover your true priorities,” she said.  She looked up at him.  “I was exactly where I needed to be.”

 

He took a deep breath, but his frown deepened and he lifted his hand, running his thumb lightly over the fading mark above her right eye.  “Did that happen in the battle?” he asked.

 

“Ah, _no_ ,” she said, smiling with self-deprecation.  “You were in surgery for more than half a day.  It was ... awful.  We couldn’t keep you fully sedated.  So when it was finally over and they had done all they could do, I, uh, took a deep breath.  And passed out in the middle of the recovery room.  I hit my face on the corner of a chair.  Or so I’m told.”

 

His expression was tight as he looked down at her.  He released her hands, his fingers finding her waist and pulling her close.  Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the scar.  She took a deep breath, her hands moving to grasp his sides, fingers curling around his back.  He kissed the scar, then next to her eye, across her cheekbone.  She turned her head, meeting him, sucking in a quick breath as their lips finally met.  

 

She almost missed this chance, forever.  

 

She came so close to losing him.

 

She parted her lips, deepening the kiss and he held her tighter.  For long minutes, they kissed and touched.  Eventually, Peggy pulled back.  She looked up at him and then very deliberately grasped his hand in hers.  She turned and picked up one of the candles, leading him to the bedroom.

 

The bed was still made up.  She hadn’t actually slept here.  Her nights had been spent in the chair at Steve’s bedside, and then later, sleeping next to him.  This, at least, was bigger than the bed in the infirmary.  She looked at the bed and then back to Steve.  She expected ... well, she wasn’t sure what she expected.  Hesitancy, nervousness, but he just stood there, looking at her.  He pulled her to him and she expected him to kiss her again, but he didn’t do that either.  Slowly, he started with the buttons of her shirt.  She arched an eyebrow, looking up at him.  

 

“You’ve seen _all_ of me,” he said bluntly.  “It’s my turn.”

 

She smiled and bit down on her bottom lip.  He was slow, but deliberate, concentrating on his task.  He removed the shirt first, then her camisole.  He fumbled a bit with her belt, but finally managed to free it.  The borrowed trousers were so comically too large for her that a gentle shake of her hips sent them sliding off and pooling around her feet on the floor.  Steve looked at her, wearing nothing but a brassiere, panties and a pair of combat boots.  She set her hands on her hips and gave him a pinup smile.  “It certainly is a look, isn’t it?” she asked.

 

He met her gaze and swallowed thickly.  “You could say that.”

 

Grinning at him, she sat on the bed and then leaned back, bracing herself on her elbows.  She lifted her leg and planted her right foot gently in the middle of his chest.  He gave her a wry smile, but quickly unlaced the boot, pulling it and her sock free and then tossing them over his shoulder.  He repeated the action with the other foot.  

 

She lay there, looking at him, her bare feet braced against his chest.  His hands circled her ankles and then his fingers skimmed up her calves to her knees.  He bent forward, intending to move higher, but she pushed back against him, biting down on her bottom lip.  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said.

 

He gave her a somewhat sour look, but quickly dispensed with his clothes, but keeping on his shorts.  She couldn’t help but smile as she looked her fill.  He was right, she had seen him naked.  But the context had been quite different and she certainly hadn’t felt entitled to ogle.  Now, however, she was taking a good long look.  God, he was beautiful.  

 

But she was struck anew by how near a thing it was.  She had seen his body so mangled and twisted.  She’d heard him shout himself hoarse from the pain.  Looking at his perfection now seemed like a half truth.  

 

He crawled onto the bed next to her, frowning.  “What’s wrong?”

 

She shook her head, struggling with the torrent of emotions.  She pushed herself up on her knees, placing her hands against his shoulders, pressing him back on the bed.  He followed her lead, rolling onto his back, looking up at her as she crawled over him.  For a long moment, she stayed where she was, on her hands and knees over him, looking down at him.  His lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed as he looked up at her, obviously worried.  

 

She didn’t have any words to give him, nothing that could express the raw joy of knowing he was safe, whole.  Nothing that could convey to him the depth of the horror she felt when he was injured, the terror of wondering if he would live, the agony of watching his recovery, regardless of how expedient it had been.  

 

She almost lost him, forever.

 

Shaking her head, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the edge of his jaw, near his ear, where the flesh had been torn open.  It was perfect now, his beard scratchy against her lips.  She moved down to his neck, to the corded muscles, biting lightly.  His hands found her hips and he hissed through his teeth.  She moved lower, nipping and kissing.  The skin over his collarbone seemed to be particularly sensitive.  Smiling, she wondered if that was because it was new skin, or if he was always that way.

 

Rearranging her hands and knees, she moved farther down.  His fingers skimmed up her side and he shifted on the bed.  She pressed a kiss directly over his heart and he shuddered.

 

“Peggy,” he said.

 

She looked up at him and was forced to blink quickly against the burn of tears.  She lifted her hand, skimming her fingers lightly over the flawless skin of his chest.  She laughed mirthlessly.  “It’s like it never happened,” she said, fighting to keep her expression neutral.

 

“Peggy,” he said quietly, “I’m okay.”

 

She looked up at him again.  “I know,” she said.  She shook her head.  “But you _shouldn’t_ be.”  She squeezed her eyes shut and several tears fell, landing on his chest.  “You should be dead,” she whispered.  “No one should have lived through that.”

 

“Given a choice, I’m not sure I’d do it again,” he said lightly.

 

Her head snapped toward him sharply.  “Are you making a joke?” she asked, incredulous.

 

His expression fell.  “I’m not,” he said quickly.  “I’m sorry.”

 

She knew he was sincere and she shook her head.  She pushed herself up, sitting back on his thighs as she looked down at him.  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “I’m not unique,” she said bluntly.  “Countless people experienced what I experienced that day.  There were thousands upon thousands of people wounded, killed.  All manner of horrors visited upon soldiers and civilians alike.”

 

His palms rested against her thighs, but he watched her in silence, waiting.

 

She laughed again, a shrill, broken sound.  “It will be a _story_ ,” she said, shaking her head.  “No one will believe it. They’ll think it was propaganda, cooked up to sell the legend of Captain America.  They’ll say no one could have been through all that and lived.”  She pressed her eyes shut tightly and took a deep breath.  Opening her eyes, she looked at him.  “But _I know_ ,” she whispered.  “Because I watched all of it.  I know how close I came to losing you.”

 

He pushed himself into a sitting position and gathered her close.  She wanted to fight him.  Perverse as it was.  Some part of her wanted to punish him for inadvertently hurting her so deeply.  But a bigger part of her wanted to hold him close and keep him safe.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

 

His hand skimmed over her back and he pressed a hard kiss to her temple.  She turned, capturing his lips, kissing him deeply.  In an instant, all the rage and fear and sorrow morphed into a consuming physical need for him.  She raked her nails through his short hair, grasping the back of his head as she kissed him harder.  He may have been inexperienced, but in typical Steve fashion, he jumped in headlong.  With a growl, he flipped them over so he was pinning her to the bed, her legs around his waist.  Perhaps he needed to prove something too, she thought.  Perhaps he needed to prove to himself that he was still alive, as much as he needed to prove it to her.

 

It wasn’t the most graceful, or even most loving of couplings.  Hastily shed undergarments - Peggy was sure the brassiere was going to be a total loss.  Steve’s previously perfect skin was now marred with scratches and at least one bite mark.  She did appreciate the irony.  Endless days spent wishing him to be whole and she was the one who marked him.  And it wasn’t like she was going to walk away unscathed either.  She knew she was going to have handprint shaped bruises on her hips.  But she would gladly take it all.

 

Still breathing hard, they were a tangle of sweat slick skin and limbs on the bed.  Steve’s front was pressed against her back, his hand palming one of her breasts.  Languidly, he kissed along her shoulder and she sighed.

 

“I’m really happy you’re okay,” Peggy said quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “I gathered that.”  He bit her shoulder gently and she laughed.  He released her breast and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her back against him more tightly.

 

“So many people lost so much,” Peggy said quietly.  “They lost everything.”  She rolled onto her back and looked at him, her gaze studying his face.  She reached up and gently traced along his jaw with fingertips.  “I almost lost you,” she gave him a watery smile, “before I ever had you.”

 

He snorted, shaking his head.  “You’ve always had me, Peggy.  From the very first day.”

 

She smiled.  “Have I?” she asked.

 

He looked at her, his expression serious. “Yes.”

 

“That’s quite reassuring,” she said, nodding.  “Because you have me as well, Captain.”

 

He leaned forward, kissing her and she kissed him back, vowing to herself that she wouldn’t waste this chance.

 

END STORY


End file.
